Jasmine & Orange
by Zendelai
Summary: With a little help from her peanut gallery, Merrill is encouraged to overcome her fear of confronting Isabela. Merrill POV. One chapter for now, but there will likely be a second chapter.
1. Chapter 1

I am a blithering idiot.

Alright, I'm not a blithering idiot _yet_. But on life's path through intelligence, ending at 'prodigal genius' and starting at 'brain-dead troll', I'm much closer to the start.

If I go through with this, I'm going past 'blithering idiot' and straight into the 'brain-dead troll' territory.

I stand up.

I sit down again.

Hawke watches me over the brim of his mug of ale, his gaze radiating in smugness. If I didn't love him so much, I'd want to smack him.

Well, I don't _love _him. He loves boys. Especially Fenris. But I love him, smug looks and all, because of everything he's done for me, and everything he's done for Kirkwall.

His really muscular arms help.

And his big green eyes.

"Corff! Another round for the Champion of Kirkwall and his comrades!"

Isabela's drunk tonight. She's good at hiding when she is and when she isn't, but I've learned her tells. She laughs too hard at bad jokes. The right instead of the left corner of her mouth curls up when she's having devious thoughts. She pulls her shirt down another unnecessary inch to show off her... ample assets.

Not that I'm complaining. I love her when she's drunk. Especially the part where she pulls her shirt down a little, which is exactly what she's doing right now.

I wish I could kiss her.

I stand up.

I sit down again.

I wish more than _anything _that I could kiss Isabela. She's so beautiful, all fire and ice, long legs and sparkling eyes. Every room she enters she owns, every person she watches under her dark lashes she enthralls. I want to touch her sun-warmed skin, I want to smell her perfumes that transport you to another world. I want to feel her breath on my neck and her hands on my -

The blood rushes to my cheeks and I flush; I can't help it. I take a long drink of my warm ale to disguise it, but Varric keeps watching me knowingly. I want to smack him, too.

Why am I so afraid of Bela? Am I afraid she'll say no, when to so many she says yes? Am I afraid that I'll disappoint her? That she'll disappoint me? That it will ruin this strange dynamic developed in Hawke's 'merry band of misfits' as Varric so pointedly puts it?

But really, how could someone so magnificent fall for a bumbling elf who's a blood mage to boot?

I hate that term. "Blood mage". I hate "apostate" too. And the way that everyone is so eager to spit them at me - and at Anders and Hawke - like a weapon. I know what I'm getting into. I'm not a child, like Fenris thinks that I am. I'm a grown woman, with womanly needs!

I stand up.

I sit down again.

"Daisy," Varric asks softly. "Are you going to keep acting like you're getting lightning bolts in your bottom or are you going to go talk to her?"

"I... this... you... who is this 'her' you're referring to?"

Hawke laughs at me as he brings his mug to his face. It sprays foam on Aveline; she stares daggers at him, as she always does.

"Please, Daisy, you've been staring at her bottom like it's going to run away without you."

My mouth is agape. "Have not!"

"Have too."

"I -" My eyes dart to Bela at the bar; I can't help it. She's leaning on one arm, pushing her chest together, laughing at a bad joke one of the vagrants made. It makes me want to slap him.

Varric leans in close to my ear; I can smell wood, sweat, and ale. "It's a nice bottom."

"It is," I barely whisper.

"You know..." He leans in even closer. Hawke and Fenris are still watching us intently and I do my best to ignore them. "She thinks you have a nice bottom, too."

I pull away, my eyes growing to the size of saucers. "She does?!" That was louder than it should have been. "She does?" I repeat at a more appropriate volume.

"Oh yes," he coos.

"Oh," I squeak, like a pathetic bird. Ah yes, I'm Merrill the blithering idiot who forgets how to pronounce words the moment Isabela's bottom is mentioned.

"Merrill."

I jump a little at his voice in my ear; Fenris has that silent way of moving where it's so easy for him to sneak up beside you. I, on the other hand, have feet that seem to attract branches and other loud objects. "Yes, Fenris?"

"Life is too short to regret your inactions." His watchful eyes darted to Hawke's, and I watched Hawke melt into a puddle in his chair.

I stand up, and this time I don't sit back down.

I march towards the bar, my head held high, and my hands on my hips, my eyes fixed on the Rivaini.

I march and I march some more.

How did the bar get so far?

I feel like I'm not getting any closer.

Creators, is she still laughing at that man's joke?

Her hair is so shiny in the bar's lighting.

I love the way that it just brushes against her shoulders.

I love her shoulders, too.

I want to -

What just hit my stomach?

Did I just walk into the bar?

She's turning to face me. She's smiling. _Oh, Merrill, don't say something stupid._

"Your hair looks nice!"

_That constitutes as stupid._

She throws back her head and laughs like it was the funniest thing she had ever heard. Her laugh sends a jolt of warmth straight to my core, and I feel myself blushing again.

"You look lovely, Kitten," she purrs. She runs the tips of her fingers along my arm; the feeling is pure lightning.

"Thank you!" My face is getting warmer. I didn't know that was possible. I must look like a ripe tomato. I firmly fix my gaze on a spot of spilled ale on the floor.

"Something on your mind, Kitten?" I love when she calls me Kitten. It makes me feel special to her. Close. "You seem awfully quiet."

"Yes... well... I..." I turn my gaze to a spot on the wall behind the bar that looks far too much like old vomit. "It's just..." My hands manage to find each other and I rub them together; it's better than having them awkwardly flap at my sides. "Oh, you know, Hawke. And Fenris. They look cute together, don't they?"

She chuckles, low in her throat. Did she just take a step closer to me?

I can smell her perfume. It's so wonderful it makes my brain foggy. She once told me that she uses jasmine oil with just a drop of citrus; 'jasmine is the most sensual oil', she said. I went out later that day to buy a bottle of it.

"They look very happy," I continue. "Even though Hawke is a mage, and Fenris hates mages, they still make each other happy. Because it's not just about what you do, but who you are, isn't it?" I'm rambling. "Like you. You took the Qunari Tome and caused all sorts of trouble, but we still all love you because of who you are!"

Creators, did I just tell her I loved her?

My cheeks grow even warmer. They're probably purple now, like an eggplant instead of a tomato. How could a woman like Isabela ever be interested in a babbling fool like me?

At the same time as I take in a deep breath of her jasmine-and-orange scent, I hear her voice near my ear (why is everyone so enthusiastic about whispering in my ear today?). "You love me, Kitten?"

She's so close to me. I close my eyes and hope my voice doesn't betray me by shaking. "No. I mean, yes! But..." Just say it, Merrill. "I love you as a friend." You can do it, Merrill. "But sometimes, I want to love you more than just as a friend."

My stomach is in my feet. My arms and legs suddenly weigh nothing. What did I just do?

"I would like that." Her full lips brush my cheek and my legs almost give out underneath me. Her breath smells mostly like ale, but there's a little bit of mint there too. "I would like that very much."

Her lips are on mine, and my world explodes around me. Every nerve in my body is on fire, and it's wonderful. She tucks a stray hair behind my ear and her hand rests on my cheek, and it feels like it belongs there so much that it should have been there my whole life. Her lips taste salty, so much like the sea; when her tongue gracefully slips between my lips, it tastes amazingly sweet.

I could kiss her all day.

I could kiss her all week.

I could kiss her all year.

Her hand slides from my cheek to my shoulder and slides down my back like a droplet of water before resting on my bottom. She gives it a small pat and I can't hold back a surprised 'ooh!'. Her tongue leaves my mouth and finds my ear, exploring around the edge; she whispers, "Would you like to go upstairs?"

Although she was whispering, I hear a chorus of giggles from the peanut gallery.

"I would like that," I reply. "I would like that very much."


	2. Chapter 2

Kissing Merrill is a victory.

She's the most darling creature I've ever come across. She plays herself off as completely innocent, but I know better, I know the deviancy behind those almond-shaped green eyes. But what's most important is that heart of hers. Her primary concern is for others, not herself, and she only seems to challenge Hawke when the matter involves someone getting hurt.

She's my Kitten. Cute, a little naive, but with a playful side that I adore.

Varric teases me because I've been pining over her for years. Damn dwarf, I don't _pine_, I just... admire from afar. That naivety, that innocence, is something that I refuse to take away from her with my absolute lack of such traits.

But her lips are now against mine, and knowing that she's willing to give up those attributes in favour of my brash nature warms my heart. She tastes like she just ate sugar cubes and I adore it.

With Merrill, I want to take my time. I want to kiss and touch every inch of her silken skin, I want to bring her to the edge just to pull her back again.

She's in for a treat.

"Would you like to go upstairs?" I boldly ask. I'm not surprised when she enthusiastically agrees.

I receive a series of significant glances from our merry band of misfits; Varric winks at us, and Hawke and Anders even start clapping.

Her hand is so warm in mine; almost too warm from her nerves. I give it a reassuring squeeze and smile. "Are you nervous?" I ask as we ascend the stairs.

"No," she replies timidly. "But yes."

I smile wryly. "Is that a no, or a yes?"

She lets out a high-pitched laugh. "A yes."

I stop to give her cheek a tender kiss. "It's just me, Kitten. There's no need to be nervous."

She falls silent and follows me into my rented room. She takes a seat on the bed, flattening the sheets beside her with her palms. I light scented candles while she gets comfortable; I choose vanilla for its warm and welcoming undertones. When I turn to watch her, she's bathed in warm light, bringing out the alabaster tone of her skin and the forest green in her eyes.

She's stunning.

But she looks so tense; I can see it in her bunched-up shoulders, and the way she purposefully averts her gaze from me. I know that this is what she wants from the flush in her cheeks and neck, but I need to help her relax. I unlace my boots, and her curious eyes leave the floor to follow my hands as I expose my legs, inch by inch. I walk slowly to the other side of the bed and kneel behind her, running my hands across her back over her clothes. She lets out a languid sigh in response.

"You're so tense, let me give you a back massage."

"Al-alright."

"Take off your top," I instruct. She must appreciate the instruction; she quickly obliges, pulling off her green tunic so she's left with only a thin white top. Her body truly is a marvel, composed of soft curves and smooth skin. I plant a small kiss on her lips, and I feel hers curve upwards into a smile beneath mine. "Lie on your stomach."

She settles into place, holding the pillow between her arms and wiggling her butt into place. I rub a mild warming salve between my palms. Working slowly, I slide my hands under her top (Maker I have never felt anything in my life that's softer than her skin) and roll my hands in small circles.

"Your muscles are all in knots. Have you been lifting heavy crates?"

She giggles, and I feel her muscles twitch between my working hands. "Just the usual errands for Hawke. Killing mercenaries, saving mages, you know how it is."

"That I do." My hands work their way up and find an especially tight knot at the base of her ribcage; I work the heel of my hand into it, and she emits a simultaneous sigh and moan. The sound spreads joyous warmth between my legs, and I inch her top up to feel the tender skin protecting her ribcage.

"Merrill," I say quietly, "Why didn't you express your interest earlier?"

She sighs a burdensome sigh, and in it I can feel the weight of her years in Kirkwall. "I'm so good at making mistakes, Bela, and I didn't want to make a mistake with you."

"Kitten," I whisper. I scoot myself down so my head is level with her back and I begin kissing up her spine. She tenses up with each kiss, but she also lets out something between a sigh and a moan, which I accept as a sign to continue. "Your only mistake was not saying something sooner." I reach her neck and nibble my way to her ear; she audibly groans when I lick along its edges, and I make a note to return there.

I'm surprised by her boldness when she rolls beneath me, grabbing the back of my head to pull me down for a deep kiss. Her tongue searches along my lips, begging for entry; I willingly grant it and her tongue darts hungrily into my mouth, dancing with mine. Her hands climb up my shoulders and cascade down my sides, resting on my hips. I gyrate beneath her touch, and she lets out a low giggle onto my lips.

"I like you, Isabela," she says in a low voice.

"I like you, Merrill," I respond.

For a woman so timid, her boldness takes me aback when she rolls herself on top of me and continues to kiss me. I can feel the desperation in her strong kiss and the hunger in her wandering hands. She feels my stomach, my sides, my hips, my thighs… I throw my head back and moan when she finds the inside of my thighs, bare beneath my tunic, and slides her hand upwards with a featherlike touch. She kisses my exposed neck, and I let out a soft growl.

She lifts herself up and points at my tunic. "I'd like for… this… to go."

I give her a devious smile. "Yes, ma'am. But you have to take it off." She returns an equally devious smile and slips the tunic up my body, ensuring that she touches my skin the whole way. She pulls it over my head and my eyes catch hers, and I can see that hunger - starvation - within them, pure need for _me_. I've been the subject of that type of gaze more times than I can count, but from Merrill, it means so much more.

Her eyes roam over my form, only covered by a miniscule amount of fabric that I count as my smallclothes. Her hands follow shortly after my eyes, trailing down my collarbone, between my breasts, and down my stomach; I lurch my hips towards her in hope of her touch continuing, but she stops and lowers herself down to my legs. This time, she works her way up, starting at my feet - I briefly squirm - and working up my legs with a firm touch. Once again I wiggle my hips, but she blatantly ignores my desires.

She likes to tease, but so do I.

She's close to my face again so I kiss her, slow, tantalizing, while I grasp the ends of her shirt and pull it overhead, breaking the kiss only momentarily. She's still wearing those cursed black pants; I roll myself on top of her to pull them down, and I'm rewarded with the feeling of the soft skin of our legs rubbing together, caramel on alabaster.

A flash of nerves crosses her eyes again at the realization that we're both down to our smallclothes; I lean back and reach behind my back to remove the cover from my breasts. They jiggle in contentment at finding freedom, and she reaches upwards to brush her thumb over each nipple. She must have felt them stiffen beneath her delicate touch, for she leans up to place one in her mouth, swirling the tip of her tongue over it. I throw my head back and let out a deep groan while she switches between hand and mouth, giving each nipple equal amounts of attention.

I feel that it is unfair that she is more dressed than I, so I pull the strap of black fabric covering her breasts over her head; my nipples become cold as she pulls away when I undress her. Her breasts are just as beautiful as I imagined: small but shapely and perky, pale skin with peach coloured nipples. I pinch one between my thumb and forefinger, and she lets out a surprised "ooh!".

I want her.

I need her.

I grab her shoulders and push her down on the bed. My lips search out every inch of her; her clavicle, her chest, her nipples (I find that they're so sensitive that they can only stand the lightest touch before they're hard), her ribs, her stomach, her navel, her hips. By the time I reach her hips she's squirming like a chained animal, begging for a release that I have every intention of giving her. I slide down the last of her small clothes, my hands lingering on her legs, before kissing my way upwards. I spare a glance at her face and she's flush, her head thrown back with the sheets balled in her hands.

Her slit is as divine as the rest of her - pink and glistening wet, surrounded by a tuft of dark hair. I lower my head and taste her slit in one long stroke. She emits a loud gasp the moment my tongue comes in contact with her, and I squeeze her hips.

I work slowly, alternating between making gentle circles and long strokes with my tongue. I feel her muscles relax beneath my mouth and wandering hands, and as I build her up she begins to pant and moan. A forefinger trails down her stomach and enters her pussy; she cries out "Isabela!" and her muscles tighten around my finger. I increase the pace, desperate to feel her cum around me, until she finally cries out in release. She trembles as she rides the last waves and I kiss up her body until her mouth hungrily meets mine.

It's a wonderful feeling, making Merrill orgasm.

"Give me a second," she pants, breathless. "Bela, that was... I... ooh!" she throws her head back and lets out a languid sigh. I smile and idly draw circles across her stomach with my finger. I find myself returning to marvel at her skin: the shade of moonlight, it's silken to the touch yet taut against her lean muscles. My lips are drawn to it, and I scatter kisses across her torso.

"It's your turn now, Bela," she whispers, rolling on top of me and pinning my arms down with graceful fingers. She plants a passionate kiss on my lips before trailing electric kisses down my body. I whisper her name as she kisses the fabric of my already-wet smallclothes.

I cannot take the teasing any longer. I have waited for this moment for three years, and another minute feels like torture. "Merrill... please..."

She responds in earnest to my begging, pulling down my smallclothes in one swoop and running her tongue along my slit in one long lick. I throw my head back as warmth spreads out from my core, putting every nerve on high alert. Unlike myself, Merrill is patient, increasing the speed of her tongue only to slow down when I begin to squirm.

"Please, Kitten," I beg in frustration as she slows down just as I feel the tingle commencing in my fingers and toes. "For the love of the Maker, let me cum!"

She remains wordless but giggles, and the sound is a jolt straight from my pussy to my stomach. I ball the bedsheets in my hand, desperate for release, for the knot in my centre to untangle.

"Please..." I whisper.

Her tongue moves, up and down, her palm pressed against my mound.

And she slips two fingers inside my wetness.

"Merrill!"

The edge of my vision begins to blur.

She quickens her pace, sliding her fingers in and out, her tongue eagerly working.

I whisper her name, a prayer.

Her tongue finds the nub of my clit and she shakes it side to side and -

Maker.

_Maker!_

With a cry I unravel, tendrils of sensation stretching from my core to my limbs in waves. I whisper nonsense, my brain momentarily disappearing to be replaced with cotton balls. As she kisses up my body - each touch filled with fire - my head lolls to the side. She plops herself down beside me, a wide grin brightening her features, her hand resting on my thigh.

"Bela?" She asks gently, afraid to shatter the blissful aftershock.

"Yes, Kitten?"

"After Hawke saves Kirkwall, and you get a ship again, can I come with you?"

I pull her in closer, resting my chin on her head. She smells floral, with a hint of - jasmine?

I speak into her hair, "You'll be my First Mate."


End file.
